Lions and little birds
by BigDamnReader
Summary: AU 1940. Serenity is a quaint little village practically untouched by the war. At least, it was until the arrival of the Jewish German siblings, the Tams, who throw the village into disarray. As the war progresses, how will they fare? A ww2 story pulling inspiration from the Kindertransport and books like Goodnight Mr Tom and Hitler's canary. Mentions of child abuse and persecution
1. News and Arrival

Mal wiped his forehead with his arm and sat down heavily on the chair he had just repaired, breathing heavy as the day's labour caught up with him. It was nearing evening now, the deep orange sun dropping down to kiss the horizon, and he had been working since eight that morning. It was a Sunday meaning that he had worked out of principle; he didn't go to church, so he might as well make good use of his time. Smiling ruefully, he had watched as the other villagers had piled into the church, wailed like dying cats during the hymns before rushing back out to go about their usual routines. Now he sat and watched the day end, bright eyes gazing at the world around him. Having lived in Serenity all his life, Mal knew every inch of it but it didn't stop him feeling proud of it every day.

Like something from a postcard, the village hosted white cottages with thatched roofs or brick, with a paved road leading to the central roundabout, at which stood a small spire monument with all the names of those who gave their lives in The Great War. Around the sides of the road, outside the doorsteps of the occupants were grass banks neatly arranged and aligned with flowers of every kind adding their tuppence worth of colour to the scene. When the sun sank beneath the hills that blanketed the village, hazy rays lit the whole village up so that it appeared as if in a dream.

Leaning back in his chair and resting his head on the wall behind him, Mal let a contented smile cross his face and closed his eyes.

"Mr Reynolds! Mr Reynolds!" Came a loud whisper, immediately followed by loud giggles.

Cracking open his eyes, Mal chuckled upon seeing the beaming face of Kaylee, the resident mechanic of the town. Despite being only 15, Kaylee knew her way around every machine you could find in Serenity, and even some that you couldn't. Mal held a special fondness for her, as though she were his own flesh and blood. Everybody did. Why, she probably had at least 12 fathers not of blood in the village. Her real father, Jonathan Frye, lived and worked on a small farm a quarter of a mile from Serenity, meaning Kaylee spent much of her time there, mingling with its inhabitants. Seeing that she was practically vibrating with excitement, he moved forward, making the chair drop to the ground He stood up and moved towards the fence.

"Yes, miss Frye? Odd time of the day to be a'calling."

Again, she beamed at him, hopping from foot to foot. She opened her mouth, words spilling out like water from a broken dam. He laughed, stopping her in her tracks.

"You're gonna have to start again Kaylee. I can't hardly hear a word of it."

She giggled, putting a hand to her mouth as she muttered an 'oops'. Taking an exaggerated breath, she tried again.

"I've just come from the village hall – I had to see Mr Harken about some parts that - oh anyway, as I was leaving miss Serra stopped me; you know miss Serra, don't you?"

Mal nodded; he didn't really know her as she lived at the other side of the village, near the church.

"Well she told me, cause I was coming this way, to tell you that, cause she didn't have time, there are some refugees coming and she needs you to take care of 'em!"

Kaylee finished with a flourish that left Mal reeling. They wanted _him_ to take care of some kids from the city? No way. He shook his head, making protesting noises as Kaylee began to turn around.

"Kaylee no I – I mean I can't just – Well what about…." He trailed off, too stunned to speak a proper sentence.

"You'll have to speak to miss Serra – Inara – if you've got troubles Mr. Reynolds. Besides, I need to be off!"

With that she turned, mounted her bicycle (arguably the best built in Serenity) and peddled away, giddy at the thought of two new children in the village. Mal meanwhile, seemed to have a fever as he marched to the village hall, his mind whirling through all the problems of him looking after city brats.

He wouldn't have the patience for them and, he didn't doubt, they would get on his nerves with their demands and mischief. He had heard tales of city kids and the horror they caused their foster families; thieving, fighting, shouting, screaming, being lazy, running away. Little trouble-makers, the lot of them. Besides, what could he give them? A small little village in the middle of nowhere and a job that only paid to maintain him. It wasn't exactly an ideal situation.

Blinking, he looked up and realised he was at the village hall. He all but ran up the steps, pushing open the door with barely restrained anger. The inside had been converted into a mini war office; tables and dividers, recruitment and advice posters plastered on the wall, a tiny number of people rushing around, holding bits of paper. A lot of them he didn't recognise, advisers sent from the city to help with the war effort. He looked around and spotted miss Serra at a corner table, going over some paperwork (he had seen her once before at the last fate – the year she moved to the village). He sauntered over, giving off a casual air so as not to alarm her and make her less likely to listen to him plead his case.

As he stood in front of her table, she glanced up at him before returning to her work. He bristled and coughed in a manner of attention. She raised her eyes to him, smiled slightly (almost mockingly) and said "Yes?"

Mal frowned at her before clearing his throat and speaking up; it would do no good to antagonise her. "I'm Malcom Reynolds. I'm guessing you recognise that name?" He arched an eyebrow.

Inara paused, then smiled radiantly, standing up and grabbing his hand to shake.

"Of course! Mr Reynolds, how wonderful to meet you. I assume you're here to discuss the children?"

"As a matter of fact, I am. I don't want 'em,"

She frowned, looking back down at her notes.

"Mr Reynolds I'm afraid you have no choice. There-"

"What do you mean I don't have a choice? It's _my_ house!" He interrupted incredulously.

"Be that as it may," she smiled tiredly at him. "You are obliged to take them by the war office. You're the only one with a spare room and these children are arriving in the morning. Besides, you'll be given a translation book and a small monetary fund to help you."

"Translation book? What the hell for?"

Inara stared at him for a moment, seemingly shocked that he didn't understand the need for such a thing.

"Didn't Kaylee tell you, or did I forget?" The last part was whispered as she began flicking through the piles of notes on the table.

"Kaylee only told me I was taking in children because you were too busy to tell me yourself."

"These children are German, Mr Reynolds."

Eyes widening in horrified shock, Mal instantly protested, crossing his arms and doing his best to ignore Inara as she tried to explain something called the 'Kindertransport' system. There was absolutely no way he was taking in _German_ children!

* * *

Simon twisted his head around to look at River as she made a small snuffling noise in her sleep. Her head was resting against his shoulder and he smiled at her peaceful expression, frowning at the dark bruise on her forehead. Feeling a familiar emotional tide beginning to overcome him, he turned back to the window, watching the green land roll by. _So,_ he thought, _this is England._ They had both been sent there for their own protection against the Nazi's. The young soldier opposite him -whom had been sent as their escort – yawned, mouth gaping open in an almost monstrous manner.

Whimpering inaudibly, he leant back in his seat, moving his eyes back onto the window. He hadn't slept for hours, too scared that, if he closed his eyes, River would be taken from him. Having watched their parents torn from them whilst in the Ghetto, Simon was terrified he would be forced to leave River, a thought that shook him and gave him nightmares. They had been travelling for days, ever since that man from the British embassy had come and taken them away. Away from that hell-hole of a place. He might only be eleven but even he knew that they would never of gotten out of their situation alive or at least unharmed without some outside intervention. Of course, he was incredibly grateful for the help but now he was incredibly worried. They were going to a strange place (the scrawl on his ID papers said 'Serenity', though the word was unpronounceable to him.) with strange people that spoke a strange language. Both he and River could speak more than just basic English (and River could actually speak more besides) but they hadn't had a full education in the language and he was scared he would never be able to understand anyone.

The train whistle bellowed out, jolting him and, consequently awakening River. He grinned as her eyes slowly opened, her small limbs stretching out – she was only 9 after all. Catching his smile, she beamed at him, pushing herself up to sit next to him as well as staring eagerly out the window.

"We're nearly there young'uns so make sure you're ready." Piped up the soldier. Simon looked confused for a second before River explained, in their native tongue, what young'uns meant. She always did have a way of knowing what specifically bothered him. Now it was her turn to act upset as she fingered the bruises and cuts that littered his face. The corners of his mouth turned up a little at her concern and he gently took her hands, pulling them to his lap.

"Please River, don't worry. It will be better now, you'll see. We can have a good life." He ruffled her hair, laughing as she swotted at him. The soldier,not understanding their words, smiled at their good-natured playing. Feeling the train begin to slow, he pushed himself to his feet and began lifting down the pathetically small bags that belonged to the two children. Handing them their respective luggage, he ushered them into the corridor of the train, yelling at the soldiers to make way for the children. A lot of them called out to the children as they passed, waving merrily (and receiving shy waves in return) and asking them to wish them luck, inquiring as to who they were meeting, what were their names e.c.t.

None of them realised the children could not understand.

Finally reaching the side door leading to the outside, the soldier leaned out the window, watching lazily as the platform grew nearer and nearer. Due to the rules, the station didn't have a sign but the soldier knew that it was the one they needed. The train let out one last whistle before coming to a final stop. Reaching out the window to open the door, he grinned as he helped the children down before hopping back on the train as it set off moving. The children, he knew, would be picked up and taken to their new home. Chuckling at the thought of them, he returned to his seat before letting them float from his mind.

The two Tams were almost comically pitiful, stood alone on the platform; ragged clothing and skeletal bodies with tiny battered bags, they hardly made a mark on the world around them. A loud cough, demanding attention, boomed from above them and they both jumped, heads snapping up to the top of the small wooden staircase leading from the platform to the lane. There, scowling heavily, stood a man. Making his way down the steps, his boots made loud banging noises that were not far off the sound of a hammer driving a nail into a coffin. Both children subconsciously took a step back, fear clear on their faces. River clung to him and he wrapped his arms around her in a protective manner. Reaching the bottom of the steps, he scrutinised them for a moment before his eyes flickered to the bundle of papers in his hand. When he finally spoke, his voice was gruff.

"You're the Tams then?"


	2. Revelations

Watching with narrowed eyes from the kitchen, Mal considered the bundles of twigs sat at his tiny dining table. Both children ( _Kinder_ read his translation book) were picking at their meal of eggs, toast and bacon. He hadn't really looked at the information pack given to him by Inara the previous evening. Both children had spoken barley a word, weather from lack of understanding or nerves, Mal didn't know. What he did know was that he was not fit to look after the children sat in the room next to him. Neither seemed to realise he was there and he reckoned he could just sneak out now and go see Zoe, the co-owner of the general shop next door. He was in desperate need of more milk and butter to accommodate for his new guests (because, despite his dislike, he wasn't going to abuse them) and the pack contained two more ration cards, one for each child. Moving into the small dining room, he frowned as both children jumped at his entrance, snapping up to attention and stopping their picking.

"I'm just heading out. Won't be long. Don't go anywhere, okay?" Inara had suggested speaking in simple terms so as to reduce any confusion, even if it did make him sound like an idiot. The eldest one (Simon, his brain recalled), spoke up in an almost emotionless tone, replying to his rhetorical question with a simple "Yes, sir, Mr Reynolds." Again, Mal frowned at the formal words but shrugged, figuring it was common practice in Germany. Moving through the room and into the entrance corridor, he took his jacket off the hook, gave one last look behind him, and walked out.

Within a minute he was stood inside the shop, feeling uncommonly awkward as Zoe weighed out the necessary amounts. Everyone had seen him ride into the town on Mr Frye's wagon with the children and he was expecting for all the gossipers of the village to pounce on him at once in a coordinated military operation. Zoe, upon seeing his nervous expression, smirked and let out a slight laugh at seeing her friend completely out of his depth. Mal's head snapped to her and he glared (though without any heat) at her. Struggling to calm herself, she handed over his wares and gave up the pretence as she snipped away at the ration book. Being that they were a rural village with many successful farms around them, they did not have to rely on the book as much as those in the city – they just gave the farmers a little extra for their goods and nobody said anything to nobody – so Zoe only took one small square from one of the rations books. As Mal turned to leave, Wash sauntered in and gave a toothy grin at the sight of him.

"Hey Mal! Heard you turned father this week."

Mal grumbled and pushed away the arm that had crept around his shoulders. Wash, being a fundamentally cheery individual, was not deterred and caught the fleeing man by the shoulders, spinning him round and leading him to a chair at the other end of the shop, chatting all the while with his hands flapping in half-finished gestures.

"I think it's wonderful, don't you darling? I mean Mal, we had you pegged for a staunch bachelor of pride so it's nice to see you interact with your domestic side, y'know"

Mal muttered threats under his breath whilst Zoe just hummed in amusement and dragged her husband away, telling him in a mock-firm voice: "You can't bother him honey, he has to get back to the kids. Can't leave them city critters alone too long." She waved him off but he didn't notice, his scowl was so big. He hurried out of the shop and breathed heavily. Nobody other than him or Inara knew where the children actually came from and he found he was rather nervous at the thought of telling anyone – what if they thought he was working with the enemy or something? Shaking his head, he made his way back to his house.

It was with a small degree of shock that he found both children _exactly_ where he left them. They had been communicating quietly but, at his appearance, they both quietened and sat up straight once again. The plates in front of them were empty apart from the bacon. Surely all children liked bacon? Putting his purchases on the counter in the kitchen, he re-entered the room and stood beside the table, looking down at them. Neither would meet his eye.

"What's the matter, don't you like bacon?"

Both children glanced at each other and were silent for a moment before Simon tried to reply in a soft, shaky tone.

"We do not know, sir. We have never, ahm, tried it?" The end, gently pushed out of his mouth, sounded like a question and Mal became confused at the answer. If they had never tried it, then why didn't they now? He asked them in a minutely bewildered tone.

"We cannot sir. We are, ahm, _Juden_." Mal stared at them, uncomprehending. His face must have signalled something because they both started squirming in the chairs, looking away from him and onto he wooden table in front of them.

"What is it now?"

"Would you please pass my bag to me, please, sir?"

Slightly confused at the worried tone, he turned and located the small cloth bag and handed it to him. The boy, with a nervous glance at him first, dug through its meagre contents and found a tattered book which he held aloft as though it were Excalibur. The title was in German and the boy flicked through it furiously before his face alighted in a 'Eureka!' expression. Coughing to clear his throat, he tried again.

"I am sorry sir, we cannot eat the bacon. We are Jewish."

* * *

Both River and Simon wilted under Mal's gaze, fearful that once again they would be hurt for something they believed in; it had happened too many times before.

River fumbled under the table until she managed to catch her brother's hand. Mr Reynolds had gone into the front room without saying a word; surely that meant he now hated them? He would be just like the men back in Germany who hated them for no real reason, beating and starving them just to make a point. Too many times she had been curled up and moaning from hunger pains because some horrid man couldn't understand that they were people too. Even in the ghetto they had been forced to live in, the police would happily come and take their last morsel of food just for fun.

She felt her brother's fear through his slightly trembling fingers. He hadn't slept, she knew, and this sudden twist must be wreaking havoc on his nerves. Gazing at him fearfully, she was grateful for his attempt to put on a brave face in their unfortunate circumstances. Simon had always done his best to protect her and she loved him more than ever for it. He had always jumped to take her beatings whilst happily giving her his last bit of bread (if it could even be called that); at nights he would lie awake and tell her fantastical stories of a world where they travelled through space in a strange metal box that could fly like a firefly. Unlikely, but it helped her to sleep anyway.

Hearing a noise from the living room door, they both turned, eyes widening in fear at the sight of their 'caretaker' holding a white-hot fire poker, pointed right at them. They both shot to their feet. He opened his mouth to no doubt shout at them about how they were abominations but Simon, being the child martyr that he was, jumped in front of her, crying out for Mr Reynolds to hurt him, not River. River, too overwhelmed by it all (she was only 9 afterall), crouched to the floor, hugging her brother's legs and let out quiet sobs. Through her tears, she watched, surprised, as Mr Reynolds stumbled from the room. Simon, not wanting to waste a moment, turned around and stood River up, moving her into the corner of the room. The door to the outside was shut and neither Simon nor River could reach the latch in order to escape. Anxious about his return, Simon dragged a chair over too her and placed it in front of her like a guard. He stood in front of it, too frightened to grab a weapon for fear of a worse punishment.

"Don't worry River, I'll protect you. I won't let him hurt you."

Her brother reached a shaky hand through the open back of the chair, similar to the way a soldier gives his hand out of a train window or a prisoner reaching for the loved one he is being forced to leave. She grabbed and squeezed hard, utterly convinced that Mr Reynolds would beat her brother, possibly to death. She let out a small sob and he immediately hushed her, uttering nonsensical words to calm her down.

* * *

Mal, after being sick through the living room window, slowly approached the dining room door, careful to keep his hands visibly empty at his sides. Stepping into the room, his heart dropped at the sight of Simon guarding his sister, whom crouched in the corner of the room behind a chair, tears rolling down both their cheeks. How could they even think that he would…..

Internally shaking his head, Mal pieced it together slowly. He, of course, was aware of the treatment of Jews in Germany and it should have clicked earlier that these two had been sent here to escape that. Why else would there be German children allowed to hide out in the English countryside? Sighing quietly, he moved forward a step, immediately stopping as both children tensed up even further – if such a thing were possible. The boy clenched his fists and gulped audibly, shifting himself so that he blocked out Mal's view of his sister. It was painfully evident what the boy was expecting from him; looking at the bruises and cuts on his pale face, it should never have been a shock.

Slowly, Mal dropped to his knees. Making sure he used cautious movements, he put his hand in his pocket, feeling the fear from their gazes like heat from the sun. He gingerly removed his hand from his pocket, withdrawing with it a tiny chocolate bar that he had gotten from the Sunday market over in Whitefall, their neighbouring village. To his surprise, only Simon seemed to recognise the food, even if the packaging was unfamiliar to him. Putting on his most reassuring smile (which he had been informed looked like a man in a serious amount of pain), he gestured with the bar, doing his best to ignore the small flinches he generated.

"Come on. I ain't gonna hurt you. I promise."

Even if they didn't fully understand, something in his voice must have confirmed his sincerity for them because Simon, never taking his eyes off Mal, moved the chair out of the way and drew his sister up slowly be the hand. Leading her towards him, though with his rail thin body still in front, Simon motioned for her to take the chocolate. She did so with great reluctance. When her nervous hands did not permit her to open it, he watched as Simon took it from her and opened it easily, handing it back quickly as though he anticipation of her eating it outweighed his fear in Mal. Saying that, they stood stock still, as though they feared their limbs would not support them if they tried to move.

River took a bite and Mal watched in surprised amazement as her little body seemed to convulse in enjoyment. She hurriedly took another bite before offering it to Simon; the boy refused and, after a quick glance at Mal, seemed to tell her in their own language to sit at the table and eat it all. She hesitated for a moment, clearly uncomfortable with the idea of him not having any, but at his further urging she went and sat, legs swinging – she appeared to have forgotten all about him.

Simon hadn't though, and he watched suspiciously as Mal stood up, wiping the dirt of his trousers. The boy was practically vibrating with tension and neither spoke; Simon watched his sister slowly savour the rest of the chocolate and Mal looked everywhere else. After a moments awkwardness, Simon coughed almost inaudibly and spun to speak to him.

"Thank you, Mr Reynolds. That was very generous of you. I will find some way to, ahm, _was ist das Wort?_ Ah, yes." This part was whispered. "return it to you."

Mal's brow furrowed at this and he looked at the boy strangely. Why would he feel the need to 'return' it? However, considering what sort of life they must have had back in their home country, he realised they probably weren't used to kindness from strangers.

"Don't worry about it. The ways she's devouring that thing you'd think she'd never had chocolate before." He chuckled awkwardly but stopped when he caught Simon mouthing the word 'devouring' to himself. Slapping himself mentally for his lapse, he amended his sentence.

"I mean, eating quickly."

"Oh. That is because she has not, sir."

Mal could only gape at him.

* * *

Simon and River gazed in surprise at the bed in front of them; neither of them had slept in one for months so it was a shock to be told they had been given one and that, tomorrow, Mr Reynolds would be bringing another up so they could both have one. The room, whilst small, was cosy and the attic window provided a nice view of the village – when it wasn't covered in something called 'blackout curtains'.

Simon was still unsure of Mr Reynolds and a large part of him told him that this was all a ploy to hurt them even more later on. Still, it would be wrong of him to deny his sister this; she had never experienced a world without hate or fear. He only had a few hazy memories about a time before the world turned against them. Mr Reynolds had brought their bags up for them – thankfully untouched- and so Simon helped River change into her nightdress, being careful not to touch any of the sore spots on her still healing body.

The bed was only small so he allowed her to have it. She was too tired to argue and, as soon as her head touched the pillow, she was fast asleep, occasionally letting out small whimpers. Simon smoothed out his bag and rested his head atop it. Sleep did not come easy to him that night. Unbeknownst to him, it did not come easy to Mal either.


	3. The first morning

The following morning came too quick for Mal and before he knew it he was downstairs with a hot mug of tea, contemplating the events of the previous day. It was obvious that the two were incredibly close and had, no doubt, suffered much; he might not be good with people, but it didn't take a genius to figure it out. It worried him, however, about how that would affect their time with him. It would be incredibly difficult to care for them if they panicked and fought anytime he spoke or moved.

Letting out a harsh breath of air, he stood from the chair and moved quickly to the door, slipping through it and yawning as the cold morning air hit him. It couldn't be more than half five, but the village was already active. Various farmers were moving their tools through the square before the rest of the village came alive and Mal waved at a couple of them as they passed them. Spying Jayne coming towards him, he leant against the fence and put the mug on the wooden table beside him.

"Mornin' Jayne. How's things over yonder?"

Jayne scratched his beard as he reached Mal's fence. In his arms he was toting a large wheelbarrow filled with various objects and tools; no doubt he was heading up to Canton farm.

"It's fine Mal. Stitch is bein' a miser again. Anyhow, enough o' me-"

"Oh please, not you-"

"What's this I hear about a couple of young'uns at your place?"

Sighing, Mal dropped his head onto his arms and cursed the god he didn't believe in. Lifting his head back up, he scowled at Jayne's smirking face.

"Yeah, I got 'um. what about it?"

"Nothin'. Bit funny is all."

"Aye, I'm sure it is. Big laugh; ol' Mal with the little kiddie-widdies."

Jayne stepped back as if slapped.

"No need to be sore, Mal. I was just sayin' that you ain't exactly, y'know, father material."

Mal had to admit he had a point there. Mal had been alone far longer than he had been in the company of people and, if anybody had suggested that he would have been looking after children a week ago, he would have laughed- then probably hit them in the mouth. He sighed, again, loudly, and finished off the remains of his drink.

"Well, you've got a point there. Though I have to say-"

"Is that one of them there?"

Mal breath froze in his chest as he spun on his heel to face the house. Peaking out of the window was the barely concealed eyes of River Tam. As he spotted her, he could almost hear the gasp and she dropped below his sight. Gulping loudly, he turned back to Jayne, who was stood with an amused look on his face.

"Little mite, ain't she? I doubt you'd have any trouble with that one. I'm sure one firm smack would sort any trouble out."

Mal paled and tensed, hands balling into fists as what Jayne had just said reached his ears. For a second, he was tempted to throw the mug at him. Forcing himself to calm down, he told himself that Jayne didn't know and wouldn't know until he was told. Still, he had to remove himself before he did anything he would regret. Turning to the larger man with a big smile, he spoke in a jovial voice:

"Well, better be getting on with it. Kids to sort an all."

"Sure Mal, I got stuff to be getting' on with. See you later."

And with that, the two men parted.

Stepping into the house, Mal could practically see the fear and tension in the air. Moving gingerly, he moved from the little corridor into the kitchen. They were not there. Frowning, he continued through the room until he reached the side door leading to the living room. Putting one foot in the room, the sound of small whimpers reached his ears and he paused, aware of two pairs of eyes watching him from somewhere in the room. Stepping in, he let his eyes rove around without moving his head for fear it would scare the children. It didn't take him long before he spied to frail forms behind the sitting chair. Still overly conscious of his steps, he moved towards them slowly. Reaching the chair, he bent down on one knee and opened his mouth to speak. Before he could, he was interrupted by a small voice.

"Please sir, she did not mean to look. We were just, just, umm…"

"Wondering," came an even quieter voice. His heart broke at the sound

"We were just wondering where you were. Please, don't punish her sir."

Mal noticed the subtle change from 'she' to 'we' and made a quiet noise of despair as he realised the implications. Moving back slightly, he held his hands, palm up, towards them and spoke in his quietest voice.

"It's all right. All right," _God, how was he supposed to do this_? "I'm not going to harm you, you didn't do nothin' so you don't have to worry, ah..oh"

Seeing their confused faces, he realised he had been talking too fast; his accent and 'improper' speech probably hadn't helped either. Lifting one finger (and ignoring the obvious flinch) he moved back to the kitchen and picked up the translation book he had flicked through the previous night. Going back to the children, he knelt back down – marginally closer this time round- and flicked through the pages until he found the words he needed. Writing them in the back in lead pencil, he cleared his throat, mouthed the words, then faced the nervous faces watching him with barely concealed fear.

"Ich verletze nicht."

The words were stunted and tumbled out of his mouth, sounding hideous. River seemed to agree because she giggled. Although hushed instantly, it brought a warm smile to his face. Nodding at her, he stepped back and held out a hand for her to take. He could see the two of them whispering furiously too her. After a moment, a skeletal hand reached out and closed around his. He smiled again and lead her towards the kitchen. Simon, still nervous and fearful, clutched her other hand and trailed behind her.

Sitting at the table, he put the grill on and cut four slices of bread. On the hob he placed a pan of baked beans; It wasn't long before the two had a hot breakfast in front of it, eyeing it wearily. Spotting their hesitation (despite River's trust earlier on), he brewed three mugs of tea and set them down at the table, sitting on the remaining chair. He smiled at them both and gestured for them to eat up. When they still didn't move, he swallowed his dignity and pulled a funny face, miming eating the food. River giggled again and began to eat. Simon followed a moment later. The meal was tense, silence dominating, but it didn't take too long before they were finished. Moving the plates away, Mal had his back to them as he began to speak.

"So, how was your first night?"

A small pause; he could hear them whispering to one another.

"It was good, thank you sir." Came the timid voice of Simon.

 _Good, baby steps. Come on Mal, you've fought in a war before._ He began washing the plates and cups.

"Are you liking the cottage?"

"…. yes?" The hesitation was clear, and it made Mal frown. Drying his hands on the nearby towel, he went back to the table and sat back down, noticing that some of the fear had slipped from Simon's gaze. It surprised him that there was some confusion present. Why would he-

Oh.

Grabbing the translation book, he flipped to the living section and found the word for 'cottage'. Repeating it, both children nodded vigorously; River with a hint of a smile. He chuckled at their enthusiasm. A sudden knock at the door made them both tense up again and he cursed silently. Gesturing for them to stay down, he went to the door and opened it with obvious frustration.

"What?"

"Well I am sorry, Mal. Forgive me for daring to knock on the door without paying tribute first."

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, feeling as if the world had just settled on his shoulders.

"Sorry Zoe, I'm a little frustrated at all. Not much used to having kids."

She smiled reassuringly at him. "I understand. However, if you could drag yourself away, I got a cart wheel that needs fixing. Bent in two."

"In two? How in the world…"

"Seems Wash had a bet last night. Can't remember what happened but he sure sobered up quick when I told him."

Mal chuckled at the image of Wash cowering under his wife's glare.

"I'll come have a look. Just give me a sec to grab my tools and…sort the kids out."

He pretended he didn't see the smirk as he let the door and went to the utility cupboard, pulling out his carpenter's tools. He left them on the side table as he returned to the kitchen, finding the Tam's precisely where he left them.

"I'm just going out to do some work. I will be back soon….why not go into the garden and look around?"

He accompanied his actions with gestures and smiled reassuringly as they nodded in understanding. He was slightly apprehensive about leaving them alone, but so far they hadn't been much trouble and had done what he had asked off them. Leaving the room, he was stopped by a small tugging on his sleeve. He turned, firstly seeing the horrified face of Simon, then his eyes trailed down to the wide-eyed gaze of River. Leaning down, he leant his ear closer to her mouth as she opened her mouth to talk.

"It is Ich werde nicht weh tun, sir."

Smiling at her (though not really understanding), he turned and left the room, letting out a breath as the he left the tense house. In doing so, he missed the quiet 'thank you' that followed him as he left.

Now alone, Simon all but leapt from his chair to get to River. The younger girl was fiddling with her fingers and bouncing from one foot to the other. Her comment had taken a lot of courage and she was beginning to tremble as the possible retaliations ran through her mind. Mal had been kind that morning but Simon was still terrified that it was all a lie, a malicious concoction designed to crush them when everything seemed to be going well.

"River, that was foolish! What would have happened if he hadn't like you correcting him? What if-"

Simon trailed off as memories of last time sprang to mind; horrific memories of a time where he had been too late to save his sister and had arrived in time to watch a soldier swing the rifle butt down with a resounding-

"Simon!" His eyes snapped to her. "It's okay. Nothing happened." The _this time_ went unsaid.

Shaking his head, he grabbed his sister into a hug and felt her tighten her arms around him. He kissed the top of her head and pulled back, smiling at her in attempt to reassure her.

"You're right-"

"As usual."

"nothing happened. But please, River, just be a little bit more cautious. Please?"

She looked at his pale, bruised face and raised a small smile. Hugging him again, she mumbled a consent into his chest. Suddenly she pushed away and, taking his hand, began pulling him through the house.

"River what are you doing?"

"He said we were to go to the garden, so come on!"

Reaching the back door, they both stopped, as though horses pulled back by the reins. On the other side of the door was the outside world, a place strange and unfamiliar, filled with strangers. Breathing deeply, Simon moved onto his toes and unlashed the door, pulling it open slowly. Both started at what (or rather _who_ ) they saw on the other side.

"Well, isn't this a surprise?"


	4. Suprised

When they had lived in the Grójec ghetto, Simon and River used to play games with one another as much as possible. Being German, they couldn't understand the polish children and so were isolated even more than most. As the old adage went, necessity breeds invention and the two would spend hours each day creating and playing new games, each hour producing more complicated and entertaining rules. River always enjoyed them and pretended she didn't know Simon made her play in order to minimise the ever increasing feeling of hunger that gnawed at their bellies.

One of these games, named rather simplistically 'Feuer, Wasser, Sturm, Blitz', was a favourite of hers, as she and Simon would play it while they walked around the ghetto- or, rather, as she would walk and Simon would deliver parcels for extra food or money. The idea was simple: If Simon said 'feuer', River would have to crouch down quickly, 'Wasser' meant she had to climb on top of an object (usually a crate or, on one rather stomach-in-mouth-moment, a pole), 'Sturm' would have her latching onto something and 'Blitz', which always sent her into peels of laughter, would end up with her making herself really small. If she was too slow, or did the wrong action (which she never) then she lost the game and would have to admit that Simon was the better sibling. He didn't know she stuck her tongue out when he turned around though.

Looking at the form in the doorway, River was glad they had played as often as she did. She clung tightly to Simon, he being safety in the 'Sturm'. Both siblings were trembling, necks craned downwards in a symbol of submission and respect. River hoped this stranger would be kind to them, like Mr Reynolds was. Unfortunately, it seemed she was wrong, as the man reached down and snatched the back of their necks, hauling them off the ground and ignoring their quiet cries of panic and distress.

"Well, well, _well,"_ came what could only be described as a slimy voice. "What have we here?" He finished off the question by shaking them, smirking at their whimpers. River searched for her brother's eyes and found them, recognising the fear in them as her own.

"Please, sir..." Simon tried, voice shaky as the eye not covered in an eye patch swung towards him with the venom of a snake. The man shook him once more and Simon fell silent. Turning (not caring about the children swinging around in his grip), the man began to walk to the end of the garden, towards a little wooden gate swinging in the slight breeze. Both children were paralysed, wanting to fight but too fearful of the repercussions to do so. Reaching the bottom of the garden, the brown haired man looked back at the house, muttering to himself: "That Mal Reynolds is sure to listen now."

"Mr Dobson! How marvellous, I was just looking for you."

The voice startled Dobson as much as it did River and, in shock, he dropped the Tam twins, both of whom latched onto each other as though HaShem himself had called out 'Sturm'. She caught a glimpse of long black coat before Simon gently pushed her head into his chest, blocking her view of the outside world; River threw her arms around him, half listening to his calmly noises and half focused on the conversation above them despite the gaps in her knowledge.

"Pastor Book. How... _fortunate_." Dobson didn't sound very happy to see the man; he made no effort to his distaste.

"Very." This 'Book', thought River, his voice is calming. "I was hoping to catch you at the service yesterday but it seems you missed it."

There was silence for a moment and River was tempted to look up and see what was going on. Hearing booted steps, she let out an involuntary whimper and sank further down into her brother's embrace, feeling him shake in restrained terror. They had been in similar situations before and it had never ended well. Never.

"My apologies but, as you can see, I'm a little busy here. I'll get back to you when I've finished with these _detestables._ "

At that, River could feel Simon been lifted up and she let out a little cry, unwilling to be separated. Dobson, seeming not to care, ruthlessly pulled at their collars, trying to get them to their feet; Something he was finding difficult when they pair refused to separate. Frustration building, he yanked Simon up and, finding River clinging to him like a limpet, raised his hand back to deliver her a blow. River could only watch, as though a flicker camera cranked slowly, as Dobson's hand came down.

"I believe the bible has some strong things to say about violence and _love_ , Dobson." Said Book, hand wrapped tightly around Dobson's wrist. Dobson looked at it with outrage, eyes wide and lips thinned. He wrenched it from Book's grip and stepped back, dumping Simon to the floor. River went to him immediately.

"Sure but I'm sure it says stuff about thievin' and breaking the law." Spat the brown haired man, fists clenched in rage.

"Well that might be true." Returned Book. "But you'd know more if you came once in a while. Couple of seats spare."

Focus now entirely on Book, Dobson moved closer, determined to get the children to the 'Police Station' (the village hall) before the hour was through.

"I caught these evacuees breaking out of Mr Reynold's house-"

"Did you see any stolen items?"

"No doubt if I shake 'em."

"Which," Book lilted, stepping around Dobson so he ended up in front of children. "We will _not_ be doing."

Dobson, seeing how he had been forced to separate from his bounty, all but growled as his eyes took on a devious shine.

"Those children that somebody has taken into their home - _home -_ think it's within their right to just walkabout willy-nilly and take what they want. Well!" He shouted, turning to address the Tam's and making them flinch. "You can't do that here. This isn't your playground! You must do what _we_ tell you!"

River felt her eyes welled up; the words might be lost but the temperament remained. Hate would always be hate. She hugged her brother tighter, once again fearing what such a thing would mean for them both. Mr Reynold's was nice; she didn't want to be moved again.

"Dobson!" Book's voice, though only a slight raise, was a roar in the relatively quiet space, made them all jump. "These are children. More importantly, they are Mr Reynold's children." Seeing Dobson gaping in surprise, Book continued, unable to stop the slight feeling of satisfaction at the cruel man being lost for words. "He was given them by the workers of the home office just yesterday. They were not fleeing, they were, no doubt, exploring."

Dobson stood silent. Book smiled kindly at him and watched with amused eyes as he huffed, growled then let out a groan and stomped off. Reaching the gate, he turned back and glared at the children, eyes full of embarrassment and hate. Then, spinning on his heel, he marched away towards the village square. The garden was in it's own private lot facing out into the fields, meaning nobody had witnessed their argument.

Book waited until Dobson was out of sight, then wheeled around to check on the children. Both were ragged and skeletal, pale skin almost translucent. Book felt a stab of sadness through his heart at the sight of them huddled together on the ground, barely perceptible whimpers and whispers coming from between them. _Poor children have had such a shock_ he thought. Kneeling down, he reached out a hand but was not surprised to see them flinch back away from him. Book, knowing that such thinks needed time, just stayed beside them, letting them become use to his presence. After a moment the girl, poking her head from the boy's chest, eyed him gingerly. Taking in his calm smile and disarming demeanour, she nudged her brother and Book suddenly found himself being appraised by two sets of eyes. All parties were silent.

"Hm...Thank You, sir." Came the boy's quiet voice.

"Yes..Thank You" Parroted the girl, smiling slightly at him in what was, no doubt, an attempt to make him less hostile. Book smiled even as his heart cracked. Then, playing the sentences in his head, Book realised why he thought they sounded strange. Flashing the girl a toothy grin, he began to speak in German.

"You are very welcome my dears." 

The children gasped in fear and started to move backwards, the sound of their own accent confusing and alarming. For a second they saw themselves back in Grójec at the 'mercy' of the guards, many of whom were very liberal with their fists and batons. Before anything else could happen, Book heard clattering coming from the house. Malcom Reynolds, lips pursed in concentration, paused at the back door and took in the sight of Book crouching beside the two trembling Tams. His brow furrowed, obviously not liking what he saw.

"Preacher." He said curtly, stepping closer to the siblings, watching them un-tense marginally. Book slowly rose to his feet. He could feel Mal's eyes on him the entire time, suspicion clear. Letting out a sigh, Book spoke in is usual calming tone.

"Mr Reynolds. How are you doing this Sunday?"

"Practically unholy. What you doing with the kids?"

"Just talking. Dobson was giving them some grief so I...stepped in."

Mal, hearing Dobson's name, tensed up further, stepping once again closer to the Tams. River shuffled towards him, her brother following more reluctantly behind. Dobson always seemed to have something to prove. Boy was always poking around, trying to find something wrong so he could get credit for fixing it. Mal eyed the siblings, angry at their roughed-up appearance but grateful for the lack of (additional) bruising.

"Well, thanks." He gave awkwardly. Book, knowing the carpenter had trouble with expressing gratitude, just smiled genially and folded his hands in front of him.

"Your welcome. By the way, will these two," he waved his hand at the pair. "be coming to the child services. Church is always open to them that want or need it."

Mal grimaced though, unknown to Book, not for the reasons he expected. "That's a no, preacher. Don't think they will be."

"Malcom, just because you are not of the faith does not mean-"

"They ain't either."

Book paused, not fully understanding the meaning. Practically all children, be they German or English, were raised in Christian society and most were taken to church. Book would hate for Mal's beliefs to encroach upon what was normal for these children.

"Mal, I understand that you have...problems, with the church. That is fine. It is, after all, your choice. However, these children have been uprooted from what they know and I think it best they have some way of feeling connected. Rooted, if you like, to something they know."

"Ain't gonna happen."

Well now he was just being ornery. Before he could speak, he watched as Mal bent down and whispered something in the girl's ear, sending them both scurrying inside not daring to cast a single look back.

"Them children don't go to church Book. It ain't there way."

"What do you mean by that."

Mal was obviously uncomfortable, shifting from one foot to the other and Book wondered what could be so bad that _Malcom Reynolds_ would feel nervous. Mal was still silent, considering what to say without giving too much away. Taking a deep breath, he decided to bite the bullet; story would get out there eventually.

"They're Jewish Book. That's why they're here."

"Ahh. I did notice the German."

Mal's eyes hardened for a second but weakened when he ran a weary hand through his hair. "Yeah. They were brought over to escape what's going on over there. Poor buggers don't got much so Book." The man in question raised his eyebrows inquisitively. "Please, don't go 'round telling anyone. They're gonna have a rough time of it when it comes out."

It wasn't often that Mal said please in a sincere sense and Book had no intention of betraying his honesty. "Mal, my church is open to anyone. If they do not feel welcome within its religion, they may still feel welcome within its walls. Jesus did say, after all, that we must love our neighbour. I'd like to think he meant all people. Good bye Mal, have a good day."

And with that, Book turned and walked away, but not before catching a pair of brown eyes peaking over the window at him in curiosity.


	5. Entertainment nowhere to be found

Mal kept still when he heard the children's footsteps stop as he entered the house. He had made some- admittedly small -progress that morning at breakfast; Now it seemed Dobson, that self righteous fool, had ruined it. He rubbed a weary hand down his face and let himself wonder what he had got in to.

His mother had always told him he was too irresponsible. When he had gone off to war, brash and full of the confidence of youth, he had brushed off her concerns. Returning home he had told himself that his mother had been correct. He recovered from it; he still carried the scars but he had overcome it. When his mother had then told him he would still have challenges, he had laughed it off. Listening to the breathing of the Tam's in the next room, he realised he should have asked for all the advice he could while she was still alive. Children had never been a strong point of his, the ones in the village giving him a wide berth. He had been content with that. Content to be without their company. Now he was in the deep end without a ring and he didn't have a clue what to do. God how he wished his mother was still alive. He looked at her picture on the windowsill with tired eyes. Reaching out, he caressed the frame with calloused fingers and took in a deep breath. He knew for certain that she would be smacking him with her wooden spoon if she caught him being so morbid. He snorted. She was never one to wallow.

The children had scampered into the living room and he could picture them standing in front of the fireplace. They would no doubt be stood with bowed heads and crossed palms. Sure enough, when he stepped through the doorway, he found them exactly as he had imagined. He let out a loud sigh, closing his eyes in despair at their flinch. Moving further into the room, he appraised them closer, frowning once again at their distressed appearance. Both children's clothes were misshapen and their knees were filthy, a result of their being on the floor. They should have got those marks from playing. Thinking on it, there was a lot that 'should have' happened for these two.

Mal lowered himself into his arm chair, feeling his stress fall with him. With a booted foot he pulled the footrest towards him and patted it gently.

"Sit."

The two raised their eyes gingerly though Mal couldn't tell if it was from fear or lack of understanding. Lowering his tone, he repeated the command and gestured at the rest. River moved first, though Mal caught the small movement of Simon's hand on her wrist. Her brother followed her just as silently.

They all sat in silence for a minute, neither party wanting to move without the others permission. Mal caught sight of his mother picture through the doorway. He leant forward and grabbed the jacket River was wearing. In retrospect, it was a stupid idea. River let out a whimper and Simon, fearful for her safety, jumped up, pulling at his arm with weak yet heartfelt tugs. The little girl tried to move away from him and both were crying out in a horrible mix of German and broken English, pleading for mercy. Mal let go of her and sat with arms raised. Brother and sister clung to each other, terrified of reprisal yet too scared to run from the room. All three breathed hard.

Mal swallowed and let his hands drop to his thighs, causing the Tam's to look up at the noise. River in particular appeared distraught and it saddened him to see it after her burst of confidence that morning. Had that only been an hour or so ago?

Realising he held their attention, Mal decided to have another go at explaining his intention. Moving with great care, he lifted the corner of his own jacket. Their eyes followed him. Still moving with caution, he moved a finger into a hole in his jacket. From their expressions they still didn't understand.

Mal's head dropped, the familiar feeling of impatience rising within him. He took a deep breath. Then another. Thanking Zoe for the technique, he raised his head and, seeing the siblings still staring, moved his hands to his jacket again. He wiggled his finger in the tear, gestured to River's jacket, then wiggled his finger again. After a few more repetitions he could see the beginnings of understandings in their eyes.

"You want," came a hesitant voice. "to..fix?"

Mal smiled at River, who in turn squeezed her brother's hand then released him.

"To check." Replied Mal.

River smiled back at him and Mal felt his grin widen with success. Simon, to his relief, seemed also to relax; he didn't smile though. Mal still counted it a victory.

Reaching forward, Mal took the edge of River's jacket and looked it over with practiced eyes. He also checked her dress and stockings and, finding only a small tear on the hem of her dress, turned to check Simon. Other than a rip on the hip of his black shorts, the boy also appeared unscathed. For once they had some fortune. As he had been looking them over both children had relaxed more and when he finished both thanked him in small voices.

Now that he had finished however, he was at a loss what to do. They may have relaxed but both still did not trust him completely and they could not converse with one another. He dare not let them out again but could not think of what to do. He hummed in consideration and glanced at the expectant faces before him. Simon and River were waiting for him to do something and he knew he had to come up with something soon.

The picture of his mother still stared at him.

* * *

Zoe said goodbye to Nandi as she left the shop. She moved her attention to the books on the counter, noting down the trade. Her head raised as Nandi's voice floated through the doorway, expecting to see the woman returning for a forgotten item. Instead she smirked as noise took on meaning.

"Well Mr Reynolds, sure is nice to see you this morning."

"I'll say Nandi. You're looking...nice, as usual."

Zoe snorted at Mal's usual uncomfortable discourse. Man might be able to lead a group of men but he sure couldn't deal with a conversation. She wondered what had kept him after he had left to get his tools. Her mind quickly answered her with the thought of the children. Man had likely had to drag them off jumping on his furniture. She'd seen some of the townies and dreaded to think what Mal might find when he returned after fixing the wheel.

Mal had managed to untangle himself from social convention and made his way to the counter, holding aloft his tools. Zoe huffed a laugh at his harassed appearance, unable to decide if it was from the children or Nandi. She opened the counter and lead him to the back where the spare wheel sat in the small courtyard.

"So you just got to attach this one to the cart?"

The wheel she had called him for was 'beyond all hope' of saving so Zoe had wheeled out the spare. Mal nodded absently, mind already focused on the task at hand. Zoe leaned against the doorway and watched the man set to work. She let him make some headway before broaching the subject of the children.

"So what are they doing?"

"Huh?" Mal fumbled around for a spanner.

"The children? What have you got them doing?"

"Oh." Mal didn't turn his attention from the wheel. "I uh, I gave 'em some paper."

"Paper?"

"Yeah. I didn't know what to do and I had to come back here so..."

"You just gave them paper. That was it?"

"Yeah. They seemed fine with it."

The two lapsed into silence, covered by the sounds of Mal dealing with the wheel. Zoe, relying on reports from friends, tried to imagine what the children could be up to without guidance and just paper.

"If you think that's best then.." She trailed off, eyebrows raised in a suggestive manner.

Mal noticed and dropped his tools, smacking his thighs with his hands and letting out a hard breath of annoyance.

"I don't know what to do with 'em Zoe. Lord knows I ain't good with kids. What am I supposed to do with 'em?"

"You could take them to the fayre."

Mal gave her with a stupefied look. Zoe felt a part of her despair as she realised her friend slipped closer and closer to being a hermit everyday. She moved closer to her friend, grabbing a piece of paper from the stool just inside the door; She handed it to him, the garish colour scheme almost blinding. In large letters on the top, the flyer read 'Whitefall Fayre'. Mal scanned the sheet then looked away with a pensive look. Knowing him, his mind was flying through pros and cons, weighing up the benefits. It was only ten in the morning and Whitefall lay less than two miles away: he could easily be there within an hour. The flyer advertised various games and rides that he could imagine the Tam's would enjoy. They might actually have a good time as rides did not involve trying to stumble through a foreign language.

"You could even take the cart if you wanted. Get there quicker."

"You wouldn't mind? Wash doesn't need it for more bets does he."

"No." Her eyes narrowed as she was reminded of her husband's folly. Man was going to feel her ire when he slept on the sofa that night. "You fixed it. I wouldn't mind if you took it for the day."

Mal nodded, lips pursed, as he packed away his tools, mind concentrated on other matters. He followed her back through the shop, faltering at the doorway. His face showed an alien nervousness as he turned back to her.

"You sure you wouldn't mind?"

"No Mal, I wouldn't."

"I'll be back in half an hour then."

True to his word, Mal was back in half an hour, shadowed by two small shuffling figures. They did not fit the loud, obnoxious image she had created in her mind. They clung to each other, trying to distance themselves from Mal and yet they were stood so close it seemed as though they did not want to leave him. She wanted to speak, to comment on the funny sight they made; Catching sight of bruises, she found the words escaped from her mouth. She could only nod at Mal, leading him (and the children) through the shop and into the yard. The cart was all ready, the horse already hitched up and ready to go.

The children stumbled to a stop at the sight of the large beast and it took a lot of pushing and quiet words on Mal's behalf before he was able to lift them on to the cart's seat.

Mal huffed after sitting the girl down and moved back to Zoe. He stretched his hand out and she took it weakly, still focused on the children. They were trying to sneakily examine the yard.

"Thanks Zoe. I'll have it back by the evening."

She gave him a glance over, noting the tenseness of his shoulders.

"You sure you'll be okay Mal? Those two ain't gonna run you ragged.?"

"I hope not Zoe. I hope not."

He shot her a cynical smile than clambered onto the cart himself. He gave a final wave as the cart moved out the yard, the sound of horse hooves getting quieter and quieter.

* * *

 **So firstly, I need to apologise for my absence. Secondly, next chapter will be fayre time! Old-timey games and fun for all! If you like this story, or even want to comment on something you want to see or fix, then please favourite and comment. I live off such things.**


End file.
